faderift | [ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

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[ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

WHO: Zevran and Various
WHAT: Zevran sparring and dealing
WHEN: Throughout Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Violence, swearing, usual Zevran Content Warnings Apply. Open prompt below, poke me on plurk for a closed starter. Prose or actionspam welcome!

As much as he'd protested Alistair running off on some mission in the west- the time apart gives him that much more chance to train. He'd been doing so privately in the barn, occasionally squaring off against Settimo when they both had the time and patience for Settimo's paranoia and Zevran's over-adjustments for the blind side. Learning to fight with only one good eye is slowly driving Zevran to frustration. Settimo could not come at him hard enough to be a challenge, he could not learn his new limitations without a solid effort on both their parts.

Setting aside his vanity he takes to the training grounds- but working on stuffed dummies is only good for so much. Soon enough he is picking out soldiers and rogues to come at him in the dirt circle. Day to day it goes much the same. Zevran stands with bad eye covered and his swords, with his hands, with a single short sword and calls any that would step up to help him regain his awareness. It is, to be honest, slow going. More often than not if his opponent has any manner of skill he ends up on his ass. But he grits his teeth, stands, and goes at it again. And again. Afterward he recovers with the highlight of his training- a bucket of water to sluice off the sweat and grit of the day. Whether it's the relief the cold brings or the appreciative looks it tends to earn? He doesn't say. But thus he spends his days, training himself or wrestling with the fledglings, who will offer their own commentary and catcalling in Antivan during his other matches.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Even your Orlesian soaps are not all meant to be used everywhere. The bar is for your body, a cream for your face, a liquid soap for your hair." He muttered under his breath, combing his fingers through Michel's hair. "I will have to order some for you as I do not have anything meant for someone quite so fair."

The oils and creams he made use of for his skin were meant for those that lived in the sun and tanned evenly. They would not work half so well on Michel. But the hair? He tugged a little at the locks, threaded them through his fingers. The texture was similar- silken and thick. He took what oil was left in the vial and poured it into his hands, massaging it into Michel's hair. It smelled of clove and cardamom, of anise and faintly of orange peel; warm and spiced and masculine. "Wash with whatever you like if you must, but use this after at least once a week."

"Soaps were a luxury in the alienage...even as a soldier if you were training or deployed...I suppose I never really thought about it," different soaps, creams, oils...for different hair and skin types. It all seemed so complicated and he glanced up at Zevran as his companion offered to order some of these things for him, such gifts were luxurious...he would have to pay him for it. He wouldn't deny the offer, however...looking almost thoughtful. Was Zevran priming his body for such enjoyments? Smoother, silkier skin and softer hair?

Did his companion wish to own his body in part?

True enough Zevran's creams wouldn't work well on skin that wasn't as exposed as Zevran's was, and when he did get sun he burned. Hair was a different story, however, therefore he submitted when Michel oiled his hair, it was a very curious thing, with curious smells that were unfamiliar to him, "once a week? You leave it in then?"

"Well now you are going to have to start thinking about it. We are all of us representatives of the Inquisition." Not that he expected people to reach out and touch Michel when they saw him despite all the temptation to do so; bu there was a look, a luster to skin well tended and hair well minded that could give him that much more. If Michel was not to care over his own skin and hair, Zevran would in his stead.

Someone must mind appearances, after all.

"You leave it to soak for ten minutes and rinse gently. There are lighter serums you might comb through your hair each morning to keep it soft if you are somewhere particularly dry." He dug his nails into Michel's scalp a moment, considering the skin hidden under all that hair, before deepening the massage to ensure the roots are equally tended to. "What scents do you prefer? This is my blend and you will smell of me for some time-"

He was going to ignore the little thrill that gave him. "-But there are others available."

"This means being silky smooth and touchable? Someone might take it as an invitation," thinking along those same lines, not that he imagine anyone would touch him without impunity. Michel figured his only asset was his sword arm and his gifts for battle and in this he was very capable. So he would leave this aspect of himself up to more...capable parties.

Michel was a quick study, but this was not part of his usual routine so he would have to train himself and dedicate himself to skin and hair care. Closing his eyes he concentrated as Zevran massaged the oil into his hair, not able to watch he had to determine how he could go about doing this for himself. He was acutely aware of the scent of the oil, the scent of Zevran...his oil and it would be with him for some time, "I...don't have a preference, really...as long as there is no lavender involved...lavender reminds me of Orlesian courts, a scent that was often abused. Covering the scent of oppression and deception I expect..."

"They will want you, but not have you." For Zevran would have him- no. For. Whomever Michel so chose to share his company with, they would have him. Zevran made no claim to Michel's person or his time. What they had while they had it was an enjoyable diversion in an otherwise stressful time.

He had to remind himself of that more and more often as of late.

"No lavender- I think that is reasonable enough. Something warm and bright, perhaps? Citrus and spices." Similar to Zevran's own but less so. For now he was content to share the oil he had, working it from root to tip through Michel's hair. Once finished he hooked his legs on either side of Michel's hips, hands settling on his shoulders to tug him in for a soft, brief kiss. "There. Now we wait."

"They would simply have to understand that my thoughts are otherwise preoccupied," and this could have meant anything, but as long as Zevran would have him his thoughts were for his Antivan seducer. He was well aware of the fact that Orlesians, particularly the nobles, could be unabashed and very hands on in their flirtations. Of course it could have also meant that he was preoccupied with his duties as well.

"I trust your judgement and your instincts in such things, I've not the knack for it...though I've heard fragrances should match the way one's body operates. Sweat and mood can alter a scent...is this true?" Masculine scents, that was his only real requirement. He couldn't imagine it being anything short of difficult, attempting to appear intimidating while smelling like a freshly cut bouquet of the most potent flowers. Perhaps if he returned to Orlais he might just take a moment to smell colognes and other fragrances just to see what suited him and his subtle tastes. For now he was content to be wrapped up in Zevran's bouquet. Literally, as those legs flanked his sides. Michel braced himself with one arm and Wound his other around his companion's waist loosely.

Waiting was perhaps one of the reasons Michel had not though to invest in such treatments, he didn't often have time. From bed to training...from breakfast to...anywhere. This right now was a luxury and while they were waitining Michel allowed his eyes to follow the lines of Zevrans face, ear, the tattoos along his body making small notes as he did. He couldn't help wondering if Zevran had pierced his ears at any point, it was an odd thing to think about right not and he cocked his head, curiously fixed on the thought, it simply seemed fitting.

He could ask. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, to tease, to taunt Michel and himself with their association. A fine way to distance themselves from what they did and who they were-

but he could not quite bring himself to do so. Not at the moment. Not with Michel so pliant under his hands, so trusting of an Assassin, so calm and still. With his face tipped back and eyes closed in quiet concentration for the duration of the massage and Zevran was yet again reminded that for however long this lasted- for however long Michel's attention was his- this was his as well. All this skin, all this sweetly responsive flesh, all this quiet devotion.

It was the last that had him clearing his mind and his throat to tug him into a proper embrace. He would not think half so much on sentiment if he were comfortably entangled.

Eyes burn, however, and after a moment Zevran leaned back enough to quirk a brow. "I can hear the gears turning about in your head, my friend. What are you thinking?"

Michel opened his eyes as Zevran reeled him in, it might have been unexpected, but he wasn't one to cavil over displays of affection. It was the sort of affection Michel himself might chase if it weren't so close to crossing those lines of sentimentality at least as far as Michel was concerned. He wouldn't stop it, though, anything that drew Zevran closer. Instead his arm tightened slightly around the elf's waist and, for the time being, he held himself still.

It wasn't long before the moment passed and Zevran leaned back, though he didn't pull away entirely, and neither did the Chevalier. The question drew surprise from Michel if only because he wasn't aware that his thoughts were so transparent, especially since his thoughts were simply unimportant and fleeting things, "so perceptive..." he said with a floundering laugh, "...it's not really important, I just...I was thinking about your ears, whether or not you've ever had them pierced. Chevalier's are prohibited, of course..."

"I have seen elves that have done so, but personally? No. The ear is a particularly sensitive place for me and the idea of taking a needle to it?" He shivered, shaking his head- even the thought had the tips of his ears twitching faintly. Tells, he knew, but tells he could stand to give. It is not something Michel was capable of using against him- there was no harm in such cards being tipped.

"Clips, now, that look as though they are piercings? Those I have done. Wearing them is agony." He mumbles, nosing along Michel's jaw. "But taking them off? Aaah...such sweet relief."

"Oh? You know...I don't think I have taken the time to thoroughly explore such sensitivities," or exploit, rather, he's attended to Zevran's ears a few times, more in passing than genuine exploration...not that they weren't very fine ears. In fact he rather liked the way they helped him to keep track of his moods, and there was something irresistible about them when they drooped just a little. Particularly when Zevran was making sympathy eyes at him...he was quite easily a sucker for that particular look, "though I should be the only one you say such things to..."

A less honorable person might just log the sensitivity of Zevran's ears away for the sake of finding weaknesses. Sensitive ears could be used as a weakness, like a trick knee could be used as a weakness. Of course that didn't mean sensitive ears couldn't also be a strength for they most certainly could be.

"Blood flow is it?" Michel now completely entrenched in his thoughts raised a hand to stroke delicately along the top of one ear, "I've heard the same could be said about other parts."

Michel had nuzzled them on occasion, dragged his lips and teeth and tongue along them during that one rather bracing encounter in the stables- but a thorough exploration? Zevran had not quite given him the time for it as he had been far more interested in what sensitivities of Michel's he might learn. Speaking of- it was easy enough to evade curious thoughts by letting a hand slide between them, fingers still soaked in oil from their hair, and rub in lazy circles back and forth across Michel's nipple.

Where Michel was honorable enough to not take advantage of such things- Zevran? Had no such scruples. "There are things-"

Oh, and a hand along his ear. Zevran's eyes went half lidded, head tilting into the touch with a shiver. "Mmm...clamps. I have a set in silver and another in gold to be placed wherever we like. Would you be interested in exploring such sensations?"

They might just have to make time for such slow, sensual explorations, wandering hands over limbs, smoothing his way slowly over skin. There was so much he could explore in the slide of his companion's body and he would need the time to indulge in as much. Perhaps catch Zevran off guard? A difficult thing to do when it was the assassin always catching him off guard.

Michel's breath hitched as a nipple was teased into excitement, it often depended on the touch as whether or not Michel could stand to have his nipples teased or if it was just unbearable. He could understand how that worked, granted some parts of the body were rarely toyed with and that often made the difference in his experience. He was new to most of the things Zevran introduced him to, though had his life taken a step just slightly off the path he found himself on, he might have been a different man.

"I..." he controlled the sound of his voice, the pitch of it, even though he couldn't control his breathing entirely...at least not in the visible rise and fall of his chest, "...want to...Zevran..."

There was something in his voice that hinted at an ache and that he was surprised at his companion's readiness. Running his finger over the very tip of the elf's ear, "...that...and more perhaps?"

Early on Michel expressed a wary concern about bringing pain into the bedroom- but this is no great pain like whips and lashes, like bruising and bites aside from those of a man made passionate. This as a slow application of pressure- a gradual pinch that clicked in little by little as Zevran watched Michel's face carefully for any sign of displeasure. Doing with his hand what the clamps would do to his chest- and to anywhere else they might see fit to place them.

Maker, that little hitch, how he leaned into it so subtly, how he ached in his voice-

Trouble, this. And he could not quite talk himself out of exploring it further. Showing Michel all his little tricks, his little toys, teasing him for hours and hours as he seemed all too pleased to ease him back. Zevran went still, biting his bottom lip at the trail of Michel's fingers. When he spoke next his voice was low, throaty. "How much more, Michel? There are a great many toys in my bag of tricks."

If only because he couldn't guarantee pain having much of an effect on his body without conditioning. Though there was something to be said about nipples, they generally were not trained to withstand sensations and were often an ignored place on a man's body regardless. Even Michel had to admit, it wasn't something he thought about outside of the occasional bush of lips or swirl of tongue. The gradual pressure on the prior to ignored buds of flesh drew sound from Michel that was sharper than he might have liked, louder.

He wrapped his hand around Zevran's wrist, not coaxing him off, not encouraging him further, but desperate for something. His voice was low and husky, rough and gritty, "the...bedroom...the bedroom please. The bedroom and anything...we'll do...please."

"We'll have to rinse the oil out first." Zevran leaned in, nosing along Michel's jawline- all idle brushes of lip and warm wash of breath against flushed, fair skin. With little warning he nipped at Michel's earlobe, a sharp nip accompanied by the barest tug of his pinching fingers. Certain sensations could be pleasing and his? this was pushing the unspoken boundary, the edges of comfort Michel seemed to have.

Please. He'd asked sweetly, asked kindly.

Zevran was not so cruel as to deny him. He released Michel's skin with a slow rub of his thumb over the worn flesh, smile not unkind. "Then the bedroom. I'll show you what I have and we can use as many or as little as you like."

He could barely hear Zevran, concentrating more on the seductive path of his lips and the pressure of fingers around his nipple. The sudden piercing sensation of teeth and the subtle tug seemed to have an unexpected and intimate connection to his cock that...he wasn't certain that he wanted his body examining too closely. Not here, and yet he could already feel it

He pulled away from Zevran slowly, sinking into the water up to his shoulders scolding himself for the lack of control he had around the elf. He wasn't entirely certain how long they had left to wait on this hair oil, but for now he was okay here--eyeing his companion from a safe distance, "that...we could experiement, I've no objections."

"Part of this is setting boundaries, Soleil. Know what you will not do, what you might try, what you know you enjoy. I am satisfied with however you let me have you." And it was just that. How Michel let Zevran have him, that was the subtle dynamic Zevran wished to cultivate. One he seemed to be nudging along nicely. Michel did not seem to wish to take the lead in this and for that?

Zevran was relieved. It helped him protect both of them from unwanted sentiment.

"Are you really satisfied with something like that?" If Michel knew more, perhaps he would have taken the lead right out from under Zevran, he remembered how surprised the elf had been in the loft. It was refreshing and it had been a moment of boldness on Michel's part. That he was uncertain in such matters between men and between taking a companion for more than one evening had him narrowing his eyes at the water as if this were somehow it's fault.

As for sentiment, he wasn't at all certain he and Zevran viewed it the same way. The more the elf learned about him, the personal and private things, the more immersed Michel became. The Chevalier was a private man and he'd opened up a great deal to the assassin, that was more intimate a thing that Zevran knew. He wasn't certain how man silent devoted types the elf had met, but at least for the Chevalier that was how it was. He was shy on the inside, reluctant, paranoid of being anything other than a wall to run up against...perhaps his companion did not have the vaguest inkling of what that meant?

"I would not ask anything of you that you found distasteful or would leave you uncomfortable. I am many things, but I am not that manner of a bastard." Every inch of his life was made of managed expectations. In battle, in bed, in friendship. Some things were easier than others to be certain but when one took what one could get and expected nothing more? It made for a simpler, less painful life. "I am not so demanding a lover as to press for more than I am given."

Nor was he one to offer more than he was comfortable handing back. This had become less the teasing, toying thing it had been before and settled more into what he had with Isabela. Some shades of familiarity and friendship with the lovemaking as a pleasing addition. He considered for a moment if he would be comfortable with Michel's company even without the sex- finding that he would? Was surprising.

Michel simply eyed Zevran as if he were some kind of puzzle, something that confused him without end. He'd never expressed any outward adversity toward Michel, toward the Chevalier, and the warrior had never been able to understand it, but he certainly accepted it. Though he couldn't stop thinking...why did he continue to entertain this? For the sex? That was probably the case, not that Michel thought he was all that good in particular with his limited experience. Men had been outside of his realm of expertise until now and things were generally rushed, straightforward, one time. So what was going on here?

Shifting in the water again Michel didn't raise himself out of the water, he still knelt, but he rested his forehead against the elf's knee. He could certainly be comfortable in Zevran's company alone, this had...escalated into something else for him, something he'd tried to put words to at one time. He wasn't at all certain he could be just like Zevran at the end of it all, "I fully intend to give as much as I can..."

"Give as much as you feel safe to give." Anything more- to take all of what Michel might offer-

Zevran shook his head and slid a hand down to comb through Michel's hair. It was a strange posture, this. A knight that knelt at an Elf's side. It was more appealing than he could say, coiled something warm and aching in the pit of his stomach and the depths of his chest. Something sharp edged and dangerous that could not be. He needed to put it from his mind.

Enjoy the game while it lasted and wish for nothing more. "There may be lines you find yourself unwilling to cross- I would rather you be aware of that than to simply say 'everything' and be frustrated with yourself or with me later."

"Frustrated..." Michel glanced up at Zevran curiously, wondering if that's the sort of thought that often rolled around in his thoughts. Is that what kept the both of them at arms length, an underlying fear that somehow there will be frustration, disappointment, resentment. He was already aware that avoiding sentiment was part of what his companion had embedded into the heart of their...entanglement.

"I don't have the same skill set or...tools...but there is something I would like to try with you, someday. A game," the Chevalier did not lift his head from his companion's knee, but he did stroke the backs of his legs. There was a tension between them that he didn't know how to relieve, but the more he opened up to Zevran, the more of the elf he was able to see. Disclosure had helped him along this path.

"Oh? This should be good." Zevran curled his fingers at the nape of Michel's neck, scratching his hair against the grain gently. Little brushes of contact to his fairs skin or oil slick hair, little things that reminded the both of them of the pleasant desire thrumming in their veins.

"Mmm..." Michel wanted to lift his head an explain it, but the fingers in his hair, against his neck, the grazing of his nails. It was all too peasant for him to just want to suddenly remove himself from this comfortable place at his companion's knee. After a moment, however, he forced himself up, flattened himself against Zevran so that he could reach for his clothing behind the elf, groping for something before pulling his hand back.

Object between his fingers, he didn't bring the object into view, running it along Zevran's back and shoulders first, it was cold, metal, and suspiciously coin shaped. And then he brought it in to view, a single gold coin that he pressed against Zevran's nose, "there wasn't a lot of fraternizing between Chevalier for obvious reasons, but when you are young and you share rooms with others there is a little experimenting. I was mostly an observer...but I thought this game was interesting...I don't suppose you know where I am going with this?"

If he didn't have to explain it he could spare himself some needless flustering.

Michel moved close to reach behind and Zevran let his hands slide from nape to shoulders, stroking down the length of Michel's spine to rest at his hips. Lean, lovely things that they were compared to the breadth of his shoulders, fair and any old bruises he'd given the man long since mended.

They might need to fix that. He certainly felt stirred to the occasion.

The coin, now, earned an arched brow, all the more when it was pressed to his nose. The implications here were thick and more than half were unpleasant- Michel did not think to consider what he'd bee, where he'd been born, what he was- what Michel was, how it might look for a Chevalier to press a bit of coin against an elf that held him in an embrace. These thoughts all swirled in his head before he raised his other brow, hands slipping from hips to the swell of his ass, urging him closer still.

"Perhaps you ought to be more specific, so I do not mistake your meaning and displease us both, mm?" Light, easy, teasing as the brush of lips and tongue he presses to the coin.

[ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

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belated NSFW warning

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